


God's Favorite

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Godstiel: Cas as God, M/M, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Even God has a favorite.</b>
</p><p>  <i>"It was becoming too much; this continual trade of desperation and heated passion. Castiel’s vessel needed its release.</i></p><p>  <i>With a starved growl, Castiel turned and pushed Dean stomach-first onto the lush grass. Dean made a sweet, chaste noise of surprise when his hips were grabbed and roughly pulled back."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	God's Favorite

Castiel would always remember the day Dean Winchester died.

His eyes had burned with defiance, jaw line stern as he rejected the command to bow down, love and worship his new God. The way his throat had bled, cut by his angel-killing blade, the dying light in his green eyes.. Dean had held onto that precious give-‘em-hell attitude until the end.

Because Dean Winchester had refused to love him, Castiel had ended his mortal life, recreating him into something.. beautiful, perfect; an angel whose only purpose was to love and worship his God. But Dean hadn’t become an ordinary angel. He had become the most beautiful angel in all of existence. An angel, God’s favorite, who fanned a jealous flame in the Heavenly Host. A target for malice and oftentimes violence. A catalyst for Heaven’s unrest.

And it was unrest that Castiel sensed when Dean’s wounded Grace called out to him.

Castiel found Dean in his version of Heaven; a quiet, sunny day in the garden outside the home where he had grown up—his root and origin of stability and innocence. Here, he was sitting among his mother’s planted flowers, gazing at their bright colors with an absent look. Even in Heaven, Dean ached and it echoed in his Grace, thrumming a quiet forlorn tune. It sung of emptiness and loneliness, sorrow and longing.

It was something Castiel would have to ignore; this.. rush of useless, human emotion. He traded in the sound of Dean’s Grace for the sight of him. Even Castiel, he who created him, had to pause to catch his breath. Dean was.. extraordinary, his most prized masterpiece. On his back were two, great wings that almost rivaled those of his God. The white feathers glimmered in the sunlight, shifting from a pale solidity to opalescent myriad of color. Primary and secondary feathers blended into burnished gold, setting Dean apart from every other thing in Creation. Castiel devoured his perfection with his eyes, every inch of it. And that was when Castiel noticed them.

Cuts. Tears. Perfection tarnished.

Castiel felt a burning in his Grace; wrath, hatred.. vengeance. He could feel the pain in Dean’s Grace, vibrating with humiliation and buried fear. Without hesitation, Castiel stepped forward into the light, his own wings a blur of gleaming white in his peripheral. It was Dean’s Grace that reacted first to the proximity of his God. The swell of love, respect and an ultimate feeling of unworthiness were hard to ignore. When Dean looked up, he shut his eyes and quickly looked away, unable to gaze upon the glory of his God. Any other angel would have bowed down, groveled. But not Dean. Castiel had left enough of his free will intact to keep that spark alive; the spark that made Dean.. _Dean_.

While Dean trembled in his shadow, Castiel knelt down beside him. His beautiful face was marred with cuts made by an angel’s killing blade. And his Grace, pure and the brightest in Heaven, seeped through the jagged edges of his wounds. A part of Castiel died. His most precious, important possession.. in pain. The wrathful God pushed down his desire to kill, to raze Heaven until there was nothing left. Instead, he adopted tender caresses, guiding Dean’s face toward him with a slender finger. Dean shied away briefly and then, daringly, met Castiel’s gaze full on with the brightest green eyes he had ever seen. Had Castiel been human at all, his heart would have stopped beating.

Castiel grazed a thumb over the cut on his cheek and watched it knit itself together, leaving perfect skin behind. Dean leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, his Grace humming with warmth and completion. Earnestly, Castiel visually searched him, accounting for all of his many cuts and wounds. His feathers were tangled, the leading edge of his wings boasting large tears.

It was with a gentle voice that Castiel asked: “Who did this to you?”

Dean said nothing.

Castiel knew immediately. “Af.” The angel of anger, previous executer of his Father’s will. He would deal with him later, Castiel surmised.

Ignoring the rage in his heart, Castiel sent a gentle fingertip along Dean’s wing. It trembled in response and Dean closed his eyes even tighter, biting his lip. Dean didn’t even need to voice it; his Grace blossomed with sudden pleasure at the touch. It was quickly replaced with disgrace, an ugly thing that served as nothing more than a blight against Dean’s perfection. To find pleasure, even arousal, in his God’s touch.. Dean found it sinful.

Castiel didn’t stop touching. He traced the abused, uneven edges of a wound and Dean sent a harsh breath through his lips. It teetered on the existence of a groan; a quiet whimper dying in the back of his throat. With a solid grip, Castiel ran his hand along the leading edge of his wing. The sound that Dean made, a deep groan of absolute surrender, rocked Castiel to his core and left him numb. Castiel wanted nothing more than to take Dean right then, to use him and soothe his own burning arousal.

Castiel expressed his need by kissing Dean’s lips. The kiss was tentative, testing, Dean too afraid to indulge. It was almost frustrating, this.. unease, this unwillingness to take. Castiel took in the way that he pressed their mouths together, hard, hungrily. He licked the seam of Dean’s full lips, tasted him on his tongue. But Dean didn’t open his mouth for his God and Castiel found out why..

_I’m not worthy.._

Castiel stopped and backed away enough to look into Dean’s eyes. There was a truth there, a broken spirit that no God could mend. It tore Castiel’s Grace to pieces.

“You are worthy,” he whispered. “You were _always_ worthy.”

It was the switch that Castiel hoped it would be. Dean stared at him hard before rushing in, crushing their mouths together. Their tongues searched and claimed while Castiel’s hands flew to Dean’s wings. There, in the feathers, fingers kneaded muscle, stroked and pulled at the vanes. And with every ounce of affection, Dean groaned, a sound that vibrated against Castiel’s lips and sent sparks down his spine. Castiel embedded his slender fingers into pale feathers, combed them through until white flared into gold. Their kiss intensified, left them both breathless. Even in the heat of it all, Dean refused to caress his wings; something that Castiel desperately needed.

Parting their lips, Castiel groaned out breathlessly, “Touch me..” A brief kiss. “Worship me.”

The hungry response rocked Castiel back. Dean grabbed him by the face and kissed him again, inching closer as if their proximity wasn’t enough for him. His fingers found Castiel’s wings, digging and fondling, caressing with a firm possessiveness. Arousal sparked in Castiel’s gut, made his vessel’s cock achingly hard, and the ecstasy of Dean touching him like this.. made him groan. And when Dean pulled on one of his feathers, Castiel couldn’t help but kick his head back in pure, unadulterated bliss. Castiel needed more.

“Harder..”

Dean’s grip was relentless, fingers an iron vice against the muscles of his wing. Castiel trembled, his whole body shivering with how incredible this felt; the closeness, the heat shared between them. Dean overtook him with his hunger, lips abused with the constant pressure, tongues tired and lazily entwined. Dean’s fingers were long and dexterous, deep in his feathers and making every one of them shudder with need. Castiel returned the affection with his own, stroking those perfect feathers with quick, agile hands. It was becoming too much; this continual trade of desperation and heated passion. Castiel’s vessel needed its release.

With a starved growl, Castiel turned and pushed Dean stomach-first onto the lush grass. Dean made a sweet, chaste noise of surprise when his hips were grabbed and roughly pulled back. Their clothes had long since vanished and Castiel could feel the clean air against his naked body. And Dean, his perfect lines and lean muscle, made Castiel’s mouth water and his cock leap with desire. Dean was so eager with his thighs spread wide apart, his hips inching back to search for the only thing that’d fill him up. Castiel knew that Dean was wet for him, having been recreated with an ability to self-lubricate; all for the sheer purpose of being God’s perfect, little toy.

And just as Castiel expected, he slid himself right in. Dean arched his back with it and groaned, rocking back on Castiel’s cock as if he couldn’t wait another second without him. His surrender, his eagerness to be taken by his God—Castiel moaned softly, the thought alone making him weak in the knees. Hard, rough, Castiel pounded into him, not once giving him an ounce of mercy. Dean called out, each moan growing more desperate, and pressed his head hard into the grass. His Grace burned with ecstasy and Castiel could feel the heat of this.. bright light mounting inside of Dean’s body. His own light, its fire hotter than any sun, was distant but there, gaining strength on the edges of his conscious. Dean’s body was so accepting, tight and warm around his cock. He was so wet and every inch of Castiel’s length slipped freely inside of him, over and over.

Dean gripped the earth, kneading it in his fingers, when Castiel pumped harder. He tried to bite back those beautiful sounds, but when Castiel touched his wings again, Dean couldn’t help let another one loose. It was gorgeous, deep, and bulging with his need for release. Reaching forward, Castiel brought Dean up to his hands and knees. In an effort to dominate him, for Dean to know his place, Castiel wrapped a hand around his throat and held it there while burying himself in his body again and again. His God could have choked him then and there, broken him and left him lying in pieces. But Castiel thought better of it. He would save his urge to destroy for something else.

Harder. Quicker. Castiel claimed Dean from the inside, pistoning his hips and driving himself deeper and deeper. It was when Castiel dug his fingers into feathers that Dean’s body jolted with orgasm. His groan was loud and filthy, drawn-out as his muscles tightened and quaked with the flood. Dean’s hole gripped his cock tight and Castiel moaned with the contraction, following it with a shout that betrayed his coming. Bright light bled from each of them, filling Heaven with its glory. So blinding and magnificent that the entirety of the Heavenly Host rejoiced.

:::

Like his Father, Castiel was a wrathful God. And even angels learned by example.

Mounted on the gates of Heaven was the head of Af, the angel of anger; he who had dared to harm God’s favorite. Pieces of his body were scattered throughout Heaven, and his severed wings were torn where they had been ripped from his vessel. For the rest of eternity, none of the angels touched Dean again. He was hailed and worshiped just as God was.

He was worthy of nothing less.


End file.
